


Warm Vanilla Milkshake

by cable69



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cable69/pseuds/cable69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you make—er—non-traditional foods?”</p><p>“Affirmative,” beeped the replicator.</p><p>“Foods that maybe aren’t really considered foods?”</p><p>“No answer can be given for a nonspecific question.”</p><p>“Okay.” Kirk steeled himself. “I’d like some Vulcan ejaculate, please.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Vanilla Milkshake

**Author's Note:**

> "I cannot, I mean absolutely cannot believe I wrote this.
> 
> Prompt: repost because I need this like burning D: I KNOW I KNOW but seriously I might die if this isn't filled. SLIGHTLY GROSS? I DON'T KNOW. Vulcan ejaculate is coppery, sweet, and - Kirk is ashamed to say it - kind of really delicious. Kirk gets a little obsessed with the taste, even though oh God that is totally gross in so many ways, and starts to crave it at really inopportune times. In this universe, the replicator has been on board the Enterprise since long before Picard, so, naturally, Kirk asks the replicator for a... very... particular beverage. Yeah, really good idea, there, Kirk. BONUSES: a) Someone walks in on him asking for a big heaping mug of Vulcan jizz (McCoy or Uhura plz plz plz). b) The replicator gets broken due to some bullshit science of your choosing and can ONLY make Vulcan jizz, much to the annoyance and confusion of the crew. c) All of the above."
> 
> originally posted on ff.net; unedited

x

A Warm, Vanilla Milkshake

x

“Spock, it’s fine,” said Kirk, grasping Spock’s hip. “Really, I want you to.”

Spock shook his head, his pupils dialated. “I do not—wish to insult you, Captain. We—my race does not—”

“Come on, Spock. You haven’t called me ‘captain’ in the bedroom since—well, since last night, but I asked you to, then. Just let me!” He fluttered his eyelashes. “Please?”

Spock made a face at him (in the sense that the corner of his mouth twitched and his eyebrow rose point two three centimeters). “I cannot deny you when you ask so…”

“Sweetly?” Kirk provided.

“I considered saying ‘sexily’ but found that to be inappropriate.”

“I don’t think we can talk about inappropriate right now,” Kirk said, pushing Spock back onto the bed. Both men were naked and highly aroused. Before Spock could argue more, Kirk climbed on top of Spock, grasped the half-Vulcan’s erection in his hand, and licked the head lightly.

Spock’s hands clenched, wrinkling the sheets.

After five minutes, Spock was making actual noises and thrusting tightly into Kirk’s mouth. He could feel the pressure building within him. Kirk shifted his tongue and felt Spock tense a final time. He latched his hands onto Spock’s hips, refusing to let him move. As Kirk had thought he would, Spock tried to pull away, but Kirk did that thing with his tongue again and Spock came.

It was the first time Spock had ejaculated in Kirk’s mouth; before, whenever Kirk had given him a blow job, Spock had insisted on moving away to release. Last week he’d accidentally come on Kirk’s face, which had made Kirk laugh, but Spock had been absolutely mortified and apologetic for days. Evidently, on Vulcan, this type of thing Just Wasn’t Done, which depressed Kirk. He tried going to McCoy for advice but McCoy (childishly, Kirk thought) held his hands over his ears until Kirk gave up and left. Finally, after Kirk had bothered him about it for days, Spock gave in.

And boy was Kirk happy about it.

He had never tasted such incredible semen. He was used to the salty, slightly bleachy taste of human come. Spock’s was incredible, smooth and sweet, like ice cream on a sunny day. Kirk regretted swallowing so fast. He licked his lips and ran his tongue over the head of Spock’s penis again to make sure he’d gotten it all.

“Wow,” breathed Kirk, straightening to stare at Spock, who had his hand over his eyes. “You taste delicious. Why didn’t you let me do that before?”

“Jim,” said Spock shakily, “I would like to apologize for being unable to control—”

“Shut up,” said Kirk, bouncing down beside Spock. “No, seriously, that was awesome. If you continue not to come in my mouth, I will break up with you.”

Spock moved his hand, staring at Kirk with wide eyes.

“Kidding. Sorry, I forgot you don’t have a sense of humor.”

x

Kirk was officially obsessed. He gave Spock as many blow jobs as the Vulcan refraction period made possible until Spock, quite unsteady on his feet by this time, pointed out that he would like to participate in penetrative sexual intercourse before they were forced to go to sleep. Kirk enjoyed the sex as much as usual but he couldn’t keep his mind off the taste of Spock’s semen.

For the next week, he cornered Spock everywhere he could. When they were on eight-hour shifts, Kirk conned Spock into the turbolift for “official business” and then paused the lift between floors. Spock, objecting until the very end (when his less and less angry no’s turned into panting yeses), eventually caught on and refused to enter a turbolift without a chaperone. Ordering everybody off the bridge did no good—Spock actually nerve pinched him rather than risk being caught on camera. After a while, Kirk realized that Spock was legitimately mad at him about all of this. But Kirk was addicted to the stuff. He plead that he was literally unable to function without swallowing four or five times during the day, but Spock just glared at him and kept his pants on.

When they were off-duty, Spock had fewer objections. He seemed to be enjoying the attention, though Kirk knew he could never get him to admit it. But even Spock could not take too much oral stimulation. He finally cut Kirk down to twice a day.

Which was how Kirk found himself in the empty cafeteria one afternoon staring at a replicator, wondering if what he was thinking could possibly work.

“Uh,” he said awkwardly into the voice module. “Hi.”

No response. Well, obviously. 

“Do you make—er—non-traditional foods?”

“Affirmative,” beeped the replicator.

“Foods that maybe aren’t really considered foods?”

“No answer can be given for a nonspecific question.”

“Okay.” Kirk steeled himself. “I’d like some Vulcan ejaculate, please.”

The machine was quiet. 

“Did you hear me?”

“Your request is being processed.”

“Wow, seriously? No, don’t answer that.”

The replicator did a bit more whirring and then, to Kirk’s total shock, produced a recycled cup brimming with blue-tinged foam.

“Oh my God,” said Kirk, lunging for it. “Thank you so much.”

He gulped it down, grinning, and tossed the cup into the compactor. Feeling quite satisfied, he announced, “Another big, heaping mug of Vulcan jizz, please.” The replicator produced it quickly and Kirk snatched it up, bringing the cup to his lips.

“What?” said a shocked voice behind him.

Kirk actually screamed and tossed the cup in the air. Its contents landed on the voice module. There was a fizzing noise and the lights in the replicator flickered.

Kirk whirled around. He hadn’t head the door slide open. Uhura and McCoy were standing there, identical looks of horror on their faces. Kirk spluttered, bright red, with absolutely no idea what to say.

“Jim, did you—did you order what I thought you ordered?” demanded McCoy.

“No!” said Jim in a high-pitched voice. “Of course not! Why would I order that?!”

“Well then, what did you order?” Uhura said. “And—” She walked over to him, sniffing. “It sure smells like what I think it is.”

Kirk covered his eyes. “Okay, fine. It’s—it’s semen. You can’t blame me! The stuff tastes amazing! Wait, how do you know what it smells like?” he said to Uhura.

She glared at him. “I dated him for half a year, didn’t I?”

Kirk was used to thinking of Spock as his, and had honestly forgotten. “Did you ever—did you ever taste it?”

“He never let me,” said Uhura. “Which is clearly a good thing, since it seems to have the same addictive qualities as—as crystal meth. Are you insane? You can’t demand something like that from the replicator.”

“Evidently I can,” said Kirk. “Look! Replicator: Vulcan ejaculate, please.”

“Why?” McCoy inquired philosophically of the heavens.

The replicator spat out ten cups of it. Kirk blinked at it.

“Why did it do that?”

“No idea,” said Uhura, approaching. McCoy moved forwards too, his first finger and thumb pinched delicately over his nose. 

“It’s not going to attack you,” said Kirk, scowling.

“You never know,” said McCoy, peering warily over Uhura’s shoulder. “If it’s at all related to Spock, it could try to harm me.”

Kirk tried ordering just one cup but ten came out again. The smell had evidently permeated McCoy’s makeshift nostril barrier. Gagging, McCoy requested coffee from a different replicator. Kirk, preoccupied by the problem at hand, turned around to ask the doctor something just as McCoy brought his cup to his mouth for a drink.

“No!” cried Kirk, realizing what was in the cup, but it was too late. 

McCoy spat everywhere. Wiping his mouth slowly, he raised his eyes to Kirk’s.

“Uh,” said Kirk. “Sorry?”

“Water,” McCoy croaked to the machine. A mugfull of Vulcan semen appeared. McCoy stared at it.

“I—I have to go find water,” rasped McCoy, and fled.

Kirk started laughing, then caught sight of the look on Uhura’s face. “I’ll just—go get maintenance, shall I?” he said, sidling towards the door. “Be right back.”

He dashed down to engineering, unwilling to discuss the situation over the intercom. Scotty was sipping a drink as he tapped at the engine controls. Kirk stared at the cup Scotty was holding and felt like beaming down to the nearest planet, never to return.

“There’s a, uh, problem with the replicators,” he said. “The ones in the cafeteria on Deck 8 won’t produce anything but this, er, white stuff.”

“Actually, the problem’s everywhere, sir,” said Scotty, taking another drink. “Ah was tryin’ to get water earlier and all it’d give me or anyone else was this stuff. But this stuff’s not bad.”

“… yes. Well. It is a problem, though.”

“Oh, quite. Don’t worry, we’ll have it fixed before dinner.”

“You can’t have it fixed a little before?”

“It’s not really an emergency, now is it?” said Scotty. “The stuff is damn tasty, you’ve got tae admit.”

“I am not arguing with you about the taste, Mr. Scott. I order you to make the repair of the replicators your number one priority.”

“Alright, fine, fine, ah’ll get right on it,” said Scotty, heaving himself out of his chair. “What is it, anyway?”

Kirk pretended like he hadn’t heard the question and fled up to the bridge.

x

Spock was manning the science station. Chekov was monitoring Uhura’s station; evidently she wasn’t back from the cafeteria yet. Kirk was fine with that; he was considering hiding from her for the rest of his life. When Kirk walked in, Chekov addressed him immediately.

“Reports coming in all ower the ship, Captain,” said Chekov. “The replicators are only turning out a—a sweet, foamy substance.”

Kirk bit his lip, hoping Spock wasn’t listening. His first officer did not turn around from his station.

“I’ve got Scotty on it, Ensign,” said Kirk. “He says it’ll be repaired by dinner.”

Chekov’s eyes widened as another call came in. “Captain, Lieutenant Richardson says she knows what the substance is—it’s—”

“Oh, no no no no no,” said Kirk, lunging forwards and clapping his hand over Chekov’s mouth. “I know, I know, Chekov, it’s sort of my fault this all happened, you don’t have to discuss it—”

“Shouldn’t we at least broadcast a message warning ewerybody not to—”

“They’ll be fine, just fine, it’ll be fixed soon,” babbled Kirk. Shit, Spock was turning around. “Just uh, keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir—message from Doctor McCoy.”

“Put him on a private channel.” Kirk fitted a transmitter into his ear. “Kirk here.”

“DAMMIT JIM, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYIN’ AT? NONE OF THE REPLICATORS ON THIS DAMN SHIP WILL PRODUCE ANYTHING BUT SPOCK SPUNK!”

McCoy’s voice was so loud that Kirk had to pull the communicator out of his ear, which meant that the last part, even though it came from a tiny microphone, was broadcasted to the entire bridge.

Slowly, everybody turned to look at Spock, who was bright green.

“Captain,” said Spock through gritted teeth.

Kirk made an inaudible, fearful noise.

“What. Is the meaning of this.”

“I uh,” said Kirk, attempting to become one with the captain’s chair. “That is to say. There was a slight malfunction with the food replicators.”

“Indeed,” said Spock, his nostrils flaring. Carefully, everybody in the vicinity of the captain and his first officer backed away.

“They got slightly broken, because I, um… broke them,” said Kirk.

“How,” said Spock slowly, “did you break them?”

“Not too sure. Spilled a drink on the voice module. Could be it.”

“Then it is entirely possible that the voice module was stuck in repeat and will only produce the last item requested.”

“Huh, that’s the case, then?”

Spock fixed Kirk with a glare that could have pinned a bug on a card.

“And what exactly was the item that you last requested from the replicator?”

“I don’t think you want me to say that out loud, Spock,” said Kirk, trying to make ‘Spock’ sound like ‘my sweet, darling love who does not want to kill me, right?’

“I do not think I do,” said Spock, quite obviously omitting the ‘Captain’ like he was trying to say, ‘as if, bitch.’

Scotty got everything fixed eventually, but not before about a quarter of the crew had tasted the substance. Kirk ordered counselors to be made available to those who were traumatized and, with Spock basically holding a phaser at his head, apologized to the crew over the intercom. The incident was talked about for weeks. Kirk heard that a number of crewmen had ordered as much of the stuff as they could when they found out what it was. McCoy was seen at odd hours of the day, extremely drunk, for weeks afterwards. Reports said that when he had been unable to locate water, he had broken into Scotty’s liquor stash. Kirk found this entirely understandable and offered to reimburse Scotty, who, he suspected, overcharged him.

Spock refused to speak to him for the remainder of the day and would not allow Kirk to give him a blow job for what felt like years. Finally, Kirk cornered Spock in their room.

“Listen, I was totally wrong to embarrass you like that,” said Kirk. “It didn’t even make sense to do what I did, because what I was tasting wasn’t you, just a replication of you. And I realize that now. I just—I love going down on you. Having you in my mouth is just about the most intimate thing I can think of. You taste like a warm, vanilla milkshake, Spock.” He smiled up at his tall, stoic lover. “I want to have you on my tongue forever.”

Spock’s expression softened. He kissed Kirk lightly.

“So I can give you blow jobs again?” said Kirk eagerly.

“Yes,” said Spock. “But this time, I will take you first.”


End file.
